Moira
by ingra-of-mordor
Summary: The book was to be brought. The Muggle War rages on and the time has finally come. No mistakes can be made...except some unexpected turn of events take place and even more unexpected consequences.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue: Ataxia

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter...but I can have fun with the characters. :)

As it was said by the head mother several times during the weekly addresses, all living matter had the tendency towards entropy, total collapse of structure. Yet it was written that even disorder had a purpose, a meaning. The little girl never listened during the lectures so it was curious indeed that she had emerged from her dream world long at the instant that the mother had uttered the paradox. A buzzing moment passed, and the words shaped her dream world.

The little girl's seemingly indifferent presence in the corner of the room went unnoticed in the sea threadbare uniforms. The old cellar was so dusty it was amazing anyone saw anything at all. It added to the reality of the dream, the haze that the light played off. When the bombs went off in the distance, the army of sawdust fell from the ceiling and joined the parley of tiny girls and caretakers. Strangely it was the adults who flinched at the pandemonium outside their sanctuary, their faces becoming stiff and eyes growing wide. The children had become acclimated to the bedlam and as a result, remained posed in perfection with their hands folded and backs straight. The mass of children, of orphans, were molded into stronger stuff than their caretakers. It seemed that the said group of elder women leaned on the younger to take their minds off of...

The little girl in the corner on the back pew had been fiddling with a hole in the leg of her plaid skirt, waging a war with the scratchy fabric. But..._it has a meaning._ The girl squinted through the smudge that never left her taped, coke-bottle glasses up at the proctor. Her face scrunched up in quite intense thought for a six-year old, and she swung her short legs back and forth that never could quite reach the cracked floor. The explosions were coming closer.

The small, gray-haired woman's grimace flashed as the ceiling light swayed ominously with the vibrations. More dust littered her head making the old woman ancient, a mysterious paradox of time.

Her voice cracked with nerves.

"The...the planes won't come this far in. Don't worry, my dears. They won't come..."

Lamentation reached their ears, and as a group, the children gazed at the cellar door in curiosity.

The mothers looked at each other in terror. The children started to move, sensing the feelings radiating in waves from their protectors.

The head mother opened her mouth again in determination to defy the evidence of the contrary when the lights went out and a roar from outside overpowered her voice...as well as the screams from her wards.

The pews flew back as hundreds of little bodies jumped to their feet.

The girl in the back by herself was paralyzed by the sounds and the thundering. Voices of the older woman shouted in disarray until thankfully, a light appeared as the cellar doors were flung out. Madly, a flood of children struggled out the stairs, gathered by pale, young women. The head mother looked around quickly and raced up the stairs. She thought she had gathered everyone.

She was wrong.

Draco Malfoy was very amused.

The Muggles and their little wars...

He walked invulnerable to the threat from the sky and took time to take in the sight of fleeing Muggles falling by the second. He kept his hand on the wand in his pocket. It had no purpose as of now. Muggles were dieing without his aid. They were killing each other.

His lip curled in disgust as he mentally reasserted his grave dislike of those different from him. Petty, weak, little things...disgusting things...it amazed him, how much emotion arose in him. He wanted to make them realize what they were compared to him. His face lit up in an inane smile as he laughed at the memories of what had occurred.

Potter...

He regained his composure long enough to glimpse the shock on the hurdling peoples' faces. A small family of vermin had taken covered under a worn stairway. The mother held her children close as the father tried desperately to find a safe way out of the city.

He had passed by, observing them indifferently. They might as well accept it. They were not getting out of this city. Pathetic...

A small, Muggle boy peered out from under his mother's arms, eyes full of unaware fear. The pajama-clad child looked at him for a shared burden, this experience that had befallen everyone and had made his mother pull him out of bed...that made him leave his favorite bear behind. He searched for understanding because he didn't not understand... The sounds frightened him and his ears hurt. That man wasn't frightened though. Even his dad was frightened. His dad was brave. But he was frightened. That pale man knew something. He stood tall in the street. A strange feeling grew in the child. Something about that man scared him more than the noises. He was a bringer of something terrible...

Malfoy stopped to sneer as rubble fell from the sky...and didn't get close to him. He looked almost ethereal.

The little boy's brown eyes widened, and he tugged at his mother's skirt.

Malfoy contemplated given those Muggles a taste of his disgust. His hand twitched in anticipation as his senses burned in memory. His fingers closed around familiar tool. He grinned predatorily and moved forward. The Muggles didn't have the faintest clue-his hand brushed again worn leather. His heart stopped as if he had brushed up against a foul serpent.

He didn't have time for fun. The diary...his mission came first.

He put up the hood of his black, silver-embroidered cloak and stalked on ward with purpose. He looked terrible...so pale and so dark. The child struggled to see past his mother when another noise emerged from the sky.

Malfoy laughed again. Yes, yes...the Muggles didn't know what was coming.

The door slammed shut, and she was in pitch black. Trembling, she slowly got to her feet and looked around her. Wisely, she put her hands out in front of her, feeling around for familiarity. She took a small step, breathing in dust and fear. Another roar from outside...the feeling of age floated down again, and she fell as her foot caught on something. Her glasses flew off her face and clattered against the stone with a worse noise than even the bombs. In a panic, she crawled blindly on the floor and the world fell.

And light came...and illuminated her familiar companion.

She grabbed for her glasses with warmth in her heart.

She felt hope. A part of the ceiling collapsed but had thankfully missed her. She gripped the old watch that had belonged to her father to find some comfort. She climbed the rubble up towards the light.

Draco Malfoy frowned in annoyance. His mood was starting to detoriate and no amount of Muggle misery was going to change that. Damn it all...

He couldn't Apparate because of the barrier...the Muggle warfare had opened a door for him. They wouldn't know he would be traveling through the ruins of London. Him, Draco Malfoy...

He glared at the book in his hands. It was such an ugly thing...

The hole made by the fang had been repaired, but it still looked bleak. It looked so Muggle he detested it thoroughly, he didn't care if it was needed in the process. Yet his master demanded...

Something collided with him, and he fell backwards, his breath knocked out of him. His hood revealed the dark sky over him, and small bits of tiles flew at his face.

She hit the cement with a gasp. She flung out her hands and broke her fall, the debris of glass biting into her sensitive skin. After her senses emerged after the shock, she realized she had run into an adult. Happiness filled her very being. An adult...they always knew what to do. Her euphoria shattered as he uttered a string of curses and lifted himself up to...

She had never seen such hate in anyone's face in her life. It had been an accident. She hadn't meant to...

His silver eyes were filled with darkness and glinted at her. He was spotless...she backed up in fear. Everyone else was dirty with dust and dirt and he was...his skin was fiber glass and his eyes flashed poison. His dark cloak meant dark things.

She backed up, and she slipped as her hand hit something curious. A quick glance...

It was a small, black book. But unimportant...

She stared up in fear. He stood up and took something out of his cloak and pointed...a stick at her. Yet she knew somehow what would happen. His face told her all. His joy told her all she needed to know.

Then an explosion sent her flying with the book in hand. She fell into darkness.

Draco Malfoy cursed every vile thing he could remember as the force of the explosion blinded him. The ground practically folded underneath him. His mind burned as he realized he was falling.

He stuttered out a Levitation Charm. His fall stopped quickly enough for him to hit the rows of pews. And his barrier had broken. How had that Muggle child...gotten past his barrier. As he lay on his back and his head started to pound, he cursed his lack of reflexes. He couldn't feel his hands, and he heard his father.

_Disgrace to the name of Malfoy...let a Mudblood beat you...Potter..._

To escape the pains of the sent curses, he went passively into a clouded...brief images. Hogwarts...he was walking down Hogwarts alone. After turning corner after corner, he saw a figure. It was waiting for him, and it was tall. Potter was over there, looking at him. What...wait...Something wasn't right. Potter was the figure, he wasn't that tall. No, wait, looked like Potter...something was...in the hall with him, behind...

A sharp pain in his left arm sent him screaming. _Come now..._

His back muscles and neck burned in protest as he was propelled the signal in his nerves and head. Master...

Draco shakily stood to his feet, one arm hanging limply and the other burning...the other arm didn't belong to him anymore. The other arm felt like somebody else. He couldn't see. His purpose...

The book!

Draco gritted his teeth as he made his right arm move. Just find it and go. Just find it and...it wasn't in his pocket.

His heart stopped, and something gripped it tightly. Fear...he screamed.

And somewhere, just a few feet away, the child lay with the key to Malfoy's life under her small hands. Her breath made the pages rustle as if the book was alive.

She turned her head in a forced sleep, deep within herself. The small, unimportant diary flipped open without assistance as if by invisible strings.

Her hand remained on the binding. It was strange because the cuts made collision with the dark man earlier...the blood from the cuts seeped into the rugged, worn pages...and disappeared as the page was wiped clean.

The marks that still lined the book began to fade, and the pages grew more textured. One's impression might be that the book was made of snake-skin. If one looked closer, they would have been alarmed...the pattern looked almost as if a face was engrained in the pages.

But no one saw, and the child slept on.

Author's note: Please review so I know whethere to continue or not.


	2. Extremes

Chapter 1: Extremes

"He harms himself who harms another, and the evil plan is most harmful to the planner."

Hesiod's _Works and Days_

Due to process of elimination, he was the only one besides his aunt that accompanied the Dark Lord into that place. It was an honor above honors yet he felt ill. His father would have been ashamed.

Draco hated himself for feeling...afraid. He was a Slytherin and used to living in extremes. He lived around and about control. It made him, control did. The moment he was born, he only served one and that was his father. Everyone else was immaterial; they were nobodies. That's the Malfoy creed: never bow to anyone else.

It always provoked Lucius Malfoy when his son would question his obedience to the Dark Lord. One night, Draco had the worst dose of Cruciatus that he would never forget. But before he lay on the floor, nerves burning, he felt something else burn into his mind. His father's look...a brief flicker of resentment at him...the miniature of him who was not bound...The next week Draco was inducted into the Death Eaters by his father as the master was...His fifth year was when he was burned quite literally.

When he was with his master, he was not in control, he was a puppet. He was accompanying something, not somebody, something that was a shadow of death. He _felt _his master inside his head.

The first year of _being _a Death Eater was...it wasn't what he had expected. He knew he would be a servant, he didn't know he would be a slave. The Dark Lord knew. His master knew what he was; it was autophobia, the fear of one's self yet he had chosen that route. He could never think too freely; if the wrong thought was to dash across his mind, showing itself in a fleeting light...

At nights, he would not sleep. It was worthless to. Most of his housemates roamed aimlessly at night or sat up with dark eyes turned towards the events of the day and what could have been. Practically no one slept but operated towards their own goals. For most, it was a time for freedom. Not for him...he also felt that current in his brain, in his soul, branching further out, trying to find _him_, his one lordDraco was part of something else, a deep flow of thought and power, the metal, spiked rope that hissed through his veins, painful but deserved. Pain made him stronger, made him important. It made him worthy where others would fall to their knees. He was many, and in time, he learned to worship it. If he were to break apart now, to journey from the current, his life line would collapse. He would be alone, and he would collapse.

He had no regrets. He adapted. It was better to serve under one being than under many who were lower. He wasn't serving a human after all. He was serving an idea...of dark, delicious power. He was dealing out death and judgment to those who polluted this world. Potter was weak when he was strong. Draco became an equal to his father.

The Dark Lord had chosen him and his aunt to accompany...no, follow him there...in that unknown place far from the light of the earth. It was hidden, and it was vast. It was golden in that room with dark shades from sacrifices earlier in unnamable times...bloody beauty. Those were the times when people knew necessity; he laughed and then sputtered to a stop when the room...grew into something else.

His heart skipped and he was suddenly afraid. Too much...vastness and too much coldness...the stains on the floor were suddenly too much to endure and the tell-tale stones weighed too much on his shoulders. He felt apart for once; he felt like he was supposed to be somewhere else. This was not meant for someone like himself. So he hovered by the chamber opening, watching his lord and his mistress journey onward to the writing on the wall. His solitude was eating him alive, but he could not move forward. He bit his lip hard.

Dark flames illuminated the shadows in the corners and the writing withered, alive and poisonous. The two of them stood, her farther behind, and that hissing filled the room. His lord was one and blessed with the language of snakes, unheard by few. He knew many things. Then it stopped abruptly, and Draco floundered for his lord was angry. It bit and burned like a flame inside, and the metal rope pulled hard and his equals felt it too. Somewhere he was sure even the Boy-Who-Lived trembled.

Then the rope relaxed, and Draco blinked, the tightening on his heart still tugging menacingly.

_To live you must die..._

A single thought flowed through his understanding yet he didn't understand.

"W-what it is, my lord?" His aunt was the only one to ask. The anger was ebbing to a memory now, and in its place, the dark flower of triumph bloomed. This was the last step to godhood. It was a dead-end except for that one detail from the past. His immortality was meant to be.

His lord turned to him and burnt him in his gaze.

"Come, Malfoy." Coldness with a double edge of success...it was his master, and he could do nothing else but enter the vast room and allow it to do...nothing.

As he walked forward, head bowed, he was angry that he had been so foolish. His heart pounded in terror for he wondered what his lord wanted.

He kneeled and his aunt followed suit. He glanced up quickly at the hooded figure then studied the floor again. The stains flickered in mourning.

"To achieve my goal of immortality, I must first die...in a form...and return. I must defeat the reaches of death."

His aunt stifled a gasp of surprise. Draco gripped his hands because he fought back the heavy feeling of satisfaction and the slight grin that was spreading over his down-turned face. Draco Malfoy, even though he was no longer an individual, still did not fancy seeing other's successes. It struck him as a tad bit funny that, after all that effort, his lord had missed his goal of godhood by one step and a fatal one at that. Because Draco knew that that prerequisite was impossible.

He stopped grinning when he felt something curl in his head, and suddenly his left arm erupted into flames.

"AAAHHHHHHH!" His screams echoed through the ancient air as he fell backwards in the pain that torn through the thread of his being. That curled-thing began to spread.

His aunt didn't move in surprise this time as one might expect. This was quite a common occurrence especially in the case of the youngest Malfoy. She remained still as the stone around them and as unforgiving, letting her nephew's shrieks flow around her. She allowed a small smile to pierce her facade. The other movement danced in her eyes as she reveled in the growing volume of energy.

Finally the flames ebbed as the pain left a cold mark; Draco lay on his back, the cold from the un-trodden floor seeping though his cloak, gazing at the ornate ceiling depicting grizzly scenes of carnage. He believed that at sometime, someone else had felt more pain than him and that knowledge made him feel better.

His lord continued to speak.

"Yet it will be know that I, Lord Voldemort, can cross all limitations. Malfoy, I require my old school things...I have use for a certain memory in my past."

His aunt appeared puzzled then her confusion cleared. Again she smiled, and her eyes lit up. This process would be quite interesting indeed.

Malfoy still didn't understand as he continued to focus on the images above, mouthing some blather in his daze of pounding numbness.

His lord stepped over him and did something that Draco always considered very...Muggle. Draco felt the pressure of a boot on his right hand and the pain drug him thrashing into present. He gritted his teeth and looked helplessly at his lord. He knew not to scream although his eyes watered.

"Malfoy, somewhere in that empty head of yours, I trust you have the capacity to understand the consequences of failure," his lord commented, casually. "I will utterly destroy you."

"I-I under-un-understand, my l-lord," the pale boy hissed out with sweat beading his forehead. "I-I will no-not fail."

The boot was removed, and as ashamed as he felt, Draco cradled his broken hand instantly. He couldn't help it. His aunt with her face scrunched up in disgust shook her head in disappointment, seeming sorrowful at her relation to the weakling on the floor.

Looking at the pair of them, watching him predatorily, Draco knew that he couldn't fail.

She awoke with soil between her fingers and the smell of grass. The sun was caressing her gently. She awoke in a place far from where she was, full of trees and stones.

There was the song of birds in the great oaks lining the house. The feeling of disorientation grew as she cried out and cupped her mouth in her hands. She didn't remember...she was in London. Now she was in front of the grandest home she had ever laid eyes on. It was an ancient mansion, formed by the architect to remind those passing by of a miniature castle. The light followed the progresses of the ivy creeping forward to peer in the windows. For all the life and buzzing of the outside, inside the home was foreboding as the windows glared out at her reproachfully. She wiped the dirt off her face.

She brushed off her uniform which she had tried to keep tidy and immediately noticed something different about herself. Her head felt full for some reason. Shakily, she opened the surprisingly small gate and gazed hopefully down the road. The wind lifted her hair into her eyes, and she did battle with the rushing tendrils to watch for traveler venturing past here. Her head throbbed because of the immense heat. She wiped her glasses nervously and continued to watch. No one came. She wondered briefly if she had not 'passed away'...for what other reason could there be?

Then the songs of activity stopped.

The darkness from the house reached past its borders and touched her. The wind grew harsh and the sun hid behind a cloud. Could she be in a comma? Time stopped, and nothing dared to move...except the front door opened boldly, beckoning her inside.

She felt the world closing in and grasped her father's watch tightly. If she didn't go in, she would be stuck in nothing. So she went up the immaculate, white steps through the door.

It was silent inside. She felt much too filthy to walk on the spotless floors that gleamed in terror of the little girl. The grand, scarlet rugs seemed quite formidable. The portraits of men and women with their noses pointed upwards didn't help much either. The silence roared at her. She was about to abandon the inhospitable environment when she heard a thud.

"H-hello?" she squeaked. "Somebody? Can you help me?"

Emboldened by a sign of life, she took off her sooty shoes and left them by the door. She tiptoed cautiously forward in order not to slip on the marble.

"I-I seem to be lost. I..." she trailed off brokenly, looking at the trail behind her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she didn't bother to wipe them away.

"I don't know how I got here. Please, you have to he-help me," she sobbed at the haughty portraits that didn't bother to answer her. She stood with her head bowed, focusing on the feeling on her long hair on her shoulders and trying to breathe.

Then a step reverberated around the hall.

She lifted her head quickly and tried to not look as small as she felt. A shadow appeared on the opposite side of the wall. She could tell it was a male and that he was tall but other than that nothing. He seemed to be resting against the wall as the form was in a very slumping posture.

She stepped lightly around the stairs in order to come behind the figure because for some reason, she felt it was...dangerous to show herself. Swiftly, she peered around the banister and glimpsed a boy with very dark hair, so dark light gleamed off it. He was strangely adorned in a long, black jacket of some sort which seemed very strange since it was so very hot outside. She briefly glanced down in disapproval at his shoes which were very dirty indeed. She wondered at the substance on the shoes that seemed a strangely familiar red.

Disappointed that she couldn't see his face and eager to obtain some form of help, she leaned forward...to see a wrinkled, diamond-littered hand lying prone around the edge of the door where the boy had emerged from.

She stopped in shock. She couldn't see the rest of the person but the lifeless that seeped through the home was clue enough. Then he saw her.

"Muggle!" The voice was poison.

Then she woke up to a real nightmare.

Malfoy climbed slowly upward from the ruins, grasping his leg in pain. Rumpled and distressed, he looked in a very helpless air. He kneeled down, suddenly feeling sick. He wasn't sick from his injuries...he was sick with fear. Shivering, he grasped his head in an attempt to get up.

He couldn't use any magic...or else Dumbledore and Potter would know where he was. His last encounter with the Order of the Phoenix was one struck his heart quick. Granger...almost killed him. A filthly Mudblood almost killed him. The force of her Expelliarmus threw him so far he couldn't move when he landed. It seemed all her resentment against what he stood for had re-leashed itself in that one defensive curse.

He hit his fist against the jagged ground in rage, enjoying the self-inflicted pain. He had failed again! Always failing! It seemed his back burned and recoiled in memory of his shame.

Breathing heavily, he smiled at the glass embedded in his fists. It never ends. But it does mean that he's alive...for now. Fears shook his mind and vibrated loud and clear to the one person that needed not to know...Another's suspicion tingled at the back of his consciousness, and he struggled to block it. He had to still have time. He had had two hours. Surely, one more hour wouldn't hurt.

The smell of despair and decay reached his nose, and he covered his mouth in disgust. This just kept getting better and better. The steady hum of Muggle weapons in the distance struck a new chord in him. He gaped in astonishment of what he was faced with. His system stopped, and in that brief interlude, he heard an explosion of a tank not too far away.

He laughed at the irony. He couldn't reform his barrier! Not now...

Draco Malfoy held his hands to the sky, grinning despite the panic that ripped through his heart and pounded behind his eyes. He was as vulnerable as a Muggle.

He grinned as ash fell into his up-turned hands and rubbed it between his fingers to see if it wasn't all a bad dream. As the ash burned into his cuts, he knew he was wide awake and wondered what Potter would think if the Bastard-Who-Lived knew where he was right now. Potter would probably laugh at this disaster.

Malfoy rubbed his hands against his face, covering himself in dirt, blood, bits of glass, and grief. Then he continued on his way.

An explosion pulled her from that haunted home full of poison.

Sleepily blinking through the dust and rubble, she realized that she had never left the war-torn city. For a moment, she thought it'd be best to stay put and rest. The housemother would be back. The old woman would have noticed her absence from the group by now.

Her hand stung like a thousand ants were biting it. She lifted her head to stare, growing feeble at the source of pain. Her hand was bleeding. Sighing in acceptance, she moved her sore body and examined her palm. In a very stoic manner, she ignored the sounds of battle. She would move...eventually. She just didn't know what to do quite yet.

Blood was everywhere, and she was angry. It was just minor cuts. She didn't feel too bad. She moved her hand and rubbed up against something cold and scratchy. Jerking her hand back quickly, she was hit with the image of a poisonous snake lying in wait under the rubble.

It was a book. A very small, minute, delicate looking book worn by time...

Something was bothering her immensely, and with a start, she realized what it was. Her stupid superficial cuts had left blood everywhere. Yet there was no blood on the book at all. A whistling sound cut through her thoughts and rubble and smoke danced across the sky. She huddled down in the hole, whimpering and clutching the book to her like a shield or a close friend.

She needed to leave now.

So she struggled wearily to her feet and tugged upwards until she was on level ground. She needed to go somewhere...she needed...

There was nowhere to go. Buildings were toppled and life was upside down. She needed to go...

She turned this way and that, biting her lip and whimpering. Running her un-injured hand though her dirty blonde hair, she was struck with an inspiration. The Underground...

She ran blindly, ignoring the stinging in her knees and the burning, scratchy feeling in her throat. Leaning her head back, she ran while watching for threats from the sky. She breathed hard and through her tears and twisting feeling in her side. She focused on the sound of her feet hitting what was left of the ground.

She ran through the soot, haze, and malicious debris, just disappearing from sight when the strange and hateful man from earlier appeared limping around the corner...

As she ran, she held the book closely, not noticing that it seemed to be flowing through time. The pages grew crisper and the spine firmer. She didn't notice. She just felt comforted by its presence as she fled from the madness outside. She didn't notice the madness that simmered in her very hands. How could she? She was very young after all...and only a Muggle.

Author's note:

Please review so I know I'm going in a good direction.


	3. Interlude

Chapter 2:

Interlude

She saw a shadow, running with her across the jagged, glinting mass like a swift-winged bird of a past, fond memory but its movements were strangely human. For a moment, she was frightened because she felt that it was not meant to be there, intertwined with her own haggard shadow. She wanted to run from it; indeed she strived to, but it kept up with easily, chained to her. So she used its company to block out the unpleasantness around her. Once she tripped, getting lost, and it waited patiently, weaving in between the smeared stones. Maybe it was her guardian; she certainly wanted to think so.

She followed it.

It paved her path, and she followed it most diligently till she stopped at the collapsed opening of what remained of the Underground. What remained...was a jaw-like opening that looked very likely to feed off young children. She gulped...would she find the remains of those lost? She hesitated. But...the swift, dark river slithered into the opening fearlessly, and she didn't want to be alone.

Skeletal frames were overturned, lying in mass heaps. Horrible...leaking oil, smoke, and small fires lurked about everywhere. She covered her mouth helplessly. Why on earth had she decided to run here? She remembered as the opening was transformed into teeth by the fading lights from the explosions...out there. For a moment, it sounded like she was in a small rainstorm, a pleasant rainstorm, as small bits of tile and dust pattered around her. The groaning outside...of the explosions sounded...like a monster from the darkest recesses of the closet (it had finally come out to grab everyone), and she was glad she was somewhere where she could just curl up and maybe go to another place in her mind. She was quite good at that as the house mothers had told her multiple times. Listening to her footsteps echoing in the solemn mourning, she imagined she was in the morning meetings...one had to be very quiet. More pitter-patter of weak drops of little tiles...she would pretend it was a rainstorm and like all rainstorms, it will pass.

It will pass. Everything bad will pass...because time will see to it.

She had a headache now, maybe from the smell; she journeyed deeper in the cavernous throat, not trusting the lights...for they were sparking. She didn't like the sound of actual water hitting the stones because it was too...sad sounding. So she picked a spot in a corner where no water sobbed and no lights flickered in defiance.

She had time to study her new friend, glossy now...what?

She wiped her glasses, trying not to scratch the frames on her rough uniform, and squinted. Wasn't it older looking, un-loved looking, before? She traced a finger along the spine that was much firmer. The pages were crisp and quite lovely, begging to be written on. It was sad that she didn't have a pen, she was sure of that.

She laid her head on the cool stone in wonder. What strange thoughts were rising to the surface? What strange...

She sank gratefully into a brief slumber, and she awoke to find him.

Draco Malfoy literally felt the time slipping away, a thief in the night stealing his heartbeat. What a mess...how had it...happened this way?

He imagined, through his pounding headache and blurring vision, that girl...where had she gone? That dirty, Muggle filth...she had caused this! How he did not know, but it was because of her that his nerves were burning and his last breaths might be approaching on swift-wings and with scythes. So he limped onward into the gloom, listening for two things: the footsteps of a very small person and that voice from within.

Eyes were watching him, waiting for him to fail and waiting to devour him...his back burned.

Someone was watching him, and soon it would simply be immaterial.

He held his head, wiping away some of the grim coat of disaster. Where would a Muggle go...hell, where would anyone flee to avoid getting killed?

Somewhere...underground...yes, he remembered vaguely an attack they held against a mass group of Muggles. He had seen some slipping through an entrance that led underground. Of course, he had finished them off, cutting them down.

But...it was worth a try, his last gamble was worth a try.

She spotted him because of the light...a small cinder drowning in darkness. She smelled smoke, the light-fleeting rough kind full of age, and wondered who would be smoking at a time like this? Then she knew what else was there to do.

She saw the small flame...then saw the boy with the flame and almost screamed. She hadn't really expected anyone to be there. In her mind, she saw the light...it was all she could focus on. Maybe it was her imagination.

He wasn't too far away. She had a feeling...he was involved with her somehow, that she knew him from somewhere like an old acquaintance. He was completely...near yet miles, worlds away. She couldn't glimpse him at all. He was dressed in shadows. It was strange, and she didn't like it, how the darkness clung to him like spider webs.

She held the small book closer to her.

The world rumbled and more tiles fell in awe, and she whimpered.

"Come closer...you are not safe there where the ceiling half destroyed."

Totally apathy...yet more...she sensed more underneath it, a raw, sparking undercurrent, and she didn't want to come closer.

"I'm fine, thanks," she whispered.

She wished he would move or something. He didn't seem...alive; he seemed like an Idea, merely a concoction of her imagination and a restless spirit from the other side. His voice was deep, vast, and full of reflections. She didn't mind it too much.

"When...did you get here?" she muttered in curiosity.

"Just now."

He was laughing at her, she felt it. Even though he had not chuckled at all, she felt it, and she grew angry. Then the sky roared from outside, and she jumped up. She didn't even know why or how...she just was closer to him. She could see he was very serious looking by his posture but still casual. Mockingly so...casual when a war was going on...

She wasn't feeling well; she had noticed it when she had moved. She felt weighed down...her head felt full.

He was watching her sink to the ground, and she tasted the air full of things she didn't know.

The sound of water was driving her mad.

"Are you alone? Where is your family?" she asked in attempt to drown out the pounding, bitter dance that wore her down and made her sink.

A sharp pause that gave birth to something dark...he didn't answer.

"I'm alone," she whispered, not to him but to herself.

She wanted to hear herself talk, and she needed him to hear her. Strange...but he was a captive audience.

"My mother died when I was young. I can't remember her, just know her picture. Well, I used to...but it's been along time. My dad died two year ago when the war first broke out. He went to fight. I was left with the house mothers at St. Augustine's, and I wasn't sad. I just didn't want to be there, I didn't think I belonged there, and it wasn't fair. So...I just imagined I was elsewhere, you know. My favorite book that my dad used to read to me was the Jungle Book. Do you know that story? He read a little bit every night, and I would wait for him even when he wasn't there anymore to finish the story. The house mothers wouldn't read to us. So...I made up my own adventures to finish it. I was told it was a very bad habit, I was always told that. But, still, I was never alone. Now though...how can I be somewhere else now?"

The faceless figure had grown tense, and she knew she had burdened him with her talk. Feeling guilty, she decided to ask him something about himself one more time.

"So...what's your name? Mine's-!'

"I do not want to know _your _name, girl."

That hurt her feelings a little bit and her smile fell. But he must be in a bad mood; he might not feel well either.

"That's alright. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."

The child gazed off in the darkness, searching for a more favorable conversational piece.

"Isn't this a pretty book? I wonder who owns it? "

She held it grandiosely up to show him because it filled the cup of silence well.

"How...did you come by that?" His voice had changed hues. He was angry now, resentful, and she was taken back. Tears started to form in her eyes as she wondered what she had done wrong now.

"I-I just found it..." she said pitifully. Then something occurred to her. "Oh! That man who was so mean must have dropped it." She was proud that she had remembered because what had happened seemed like ages ago, sprung from a past life.

"What did he look like?"

She was so pleased to have obtained speech from him that she struggled frantically to dig past the mounds of anxiety and fatigue that clouded her brain.

"Well...he was really blond, kind of...and skinny. He was very...I don't know, I could tell he was snobby, and he was wearing a cloak and wasn't dirty with smoke and dirt. And he was so mean to me! I ran into him accidentally, and I don't know if he wasn't crazy because he pointed a stick at me and his eyes got all weird but then a bomb exploded. Then I woke up and this book was right-THERE!"

While she was talking, an explosion sounded closer than ever, and she yelped and moved even closer. Heart pounded and torn between forced wakefulness and a dragging sleep, she clasped the book back against her chest. She watched in awe as the figure didn't even flinch. But! Due to the explosion that sent glorious light to pierce even where they were, she had seen him. He was young, well older than her, but still not an adult. He had very dark hair, the type she had always wanted in her general plan to dye her own dirty blonde hair...and he looked kind of bothered or sad...no, depressed. She couldn't blame him.

"Are you scared of death, girl?" he mused offhandedly in front of him, balancing his cigarette between his limber fingers. His face was curiously blank.

"I-I've never...thought about it. But I suppose so, yes, I am," she whispered, looking nervously in the direction of the latest disorder.

"Smart..." he extinguished the small cinder by smashing in to the cold stone, and she wished he hadn't.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" She couldn't raise her voice because it was shrouded.

He paused in the shadows. She was curious. She reached out her hand just so and touched something silken. It felt like a long cloth, like a...cloak. It was a little torn but definitely a warm cloak. She supposed that such cloaks must be in fashion, and grateful to be distracted, she pulled on it to feel the material that danced around her hands, warming them. He tugged it out of her grasp roughly, and she felt like she had done something wrong yet again.

"If I were you, I'd worry about only myself," he said darkly.

"Oh..." She looked at her hands in disappointment. "Well, I still think...it's best if you think of others. We are in this together, right? We can help each other."

He burnt her with his gaze, and she shrank back a bit from him, feeling quite drained. His face was so...she thought he looked tired and very serious with his eyes so intense and hair so dark. She thought at one point he might have looked kinder.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was fading, and she figured it must have been the smoke. "But I'm scared, and you're older, and I just thought..."

She looked away and was quite alarmed when he grabbed her chin. After turning her head, he quickly removed his hand like he didn't want to touch her for too long. He seemed to want to tell...to reveal something, a secret. Yes, it looked like a secret, she just knew. But in the end he said nothing.

"Sleep, girl. And when you wake up, we'll find a safer place to go."

She beamed and tried to hug him because she was so happy that he was going to help her. It was so strange because she felt like she had embraced a shadow with false warmth, a empty dream of something that wasn't quite...there. But he had to be there, and she was just very tired. He stiffened then pushed her off but not as roughly.

She smiled as she embraced the welcomed nap and journeyed to battle tigers and run with the wolves.


End file.
